A Smoking Gun and The British Government
by Unquestionably Unhinged
Summary: "I can tell we'll have a delightful time together Miss Gladstone." "Please, call me Margaret." "Mycroft." he stated thoughtfully as he pulled out a syringe. "Is that your name or the needle's?" He smiled amusedly as he brought the needle to her neck. "Goodnight Miss Gladstone." MycroftxOC
1. Handcuffs? Honey, please

**So I've noticed that ther aren't many MycroftxOC stories and I just adore Mark Gatiss so I made this! (Mycroft is my lover)**

**I do not own Sherlock or any characters within. I only own Margaret.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

"I'll ask you once more. Where is the disk?"

"And I'll repeat meself. I've gone and gotten rid of it."

"Where?"

"Mmm, I cannae tell ya that!"

"Very well."

A rather posh man in a suit stood from the chair and stalked out of the interrogation room with a scowl on his face. He slammed the door behind him and stood outside, staring back through the one way mirror.

"Told you she wouldn't crack." said the man next to him.

They stared for a while longer at the petite woman sitting in the room as she tapped a song out on the table. They watched her, of course, until her head snapped up and she stared right back at them with wide and disturbing eyes.

"Cor blimey!" shouted one of the men and the petite woman started to giggle.

"I think it's time we call him."

"I do believe you're right." He took out his phone, hit the number on speed dial and waited, listening to the ring. It rang three times before someone picked up.

"Yes? Hello sir. No-well, that's the thing sir. She won't talk."

He was silent for a moment, cringing now and then like someone was yelling and rolling his eyes to his partner, who simply chuckled.

"Yes sir, we've tried that. No-no sir, of course not. Yes sir, I understand. Thank you sir." he took the phone away from his ear and glared at it.

"He's on his way."

* * *

A young woman sat in the drab gray room in an uncomfortable metal chair, tapping on the table a song she had recently heard. These British Government people were so persistent, like they didn't know that she would never tell them anything.

She took her cap off and swept her fiery red locks from her face before putting it back on. Her forest green eyes scanned the room and took in the cracked walls and chipped paint. Obviously didn't put much money into this room.

As she looked around, the large steel door creaked open and the man form before stepped in with a pair of handcuffs. He bent down behind her and snapped them onto her wrist.

"Oi, easy there ya wanker!"

But he ignored her and simply marched from the room, leaving her cuffed to the chair. He also left the door open and her brow furrowed in deep confusion. She tried to wriggle her hands out of the cuffs but they were too tight. It wouldn't take her long, though, to get out of them.

She was just in the middle of getting the damned things off when she saw a pointed Italian shoe push its way into the room. Attached to the shoe was a long, very long leg, clad in a black suit pant. Fastened to the leg were another leg and a torso, clothed in a fine, elegant white shirt and suit jacket.

Finally, her eyes made their way to the top and she found herself staring at a rather thin faced man with a long, beak like nose and a pair of blue/gray eyes. His mouth was set in a thin line and he carried with him an umbrella, which she regarded with a fierce curiosity.

He propped the umbrella up against the wall and took a file from inside his jacket. The woman wondered how it fit in there. He moved over to the table and pulled out the chair opposite her. The screeching of the chair on the floor made her cringe. He sat and stared at her for a moment. She continued to work on the handcuffs.

"You expectin' rain?" she asked, nodding to the umbrella.

"Margaret Gladstone, born in Glasgow Scotland, daughter of Aileen and Calum Gladstone, only child, parents died five years ago, no other relations."

Margaret paused for a second, thinking it over before nodding.

"Sounds about right."

He shut the folder and put it to the side. He watched her and she tried not to move her arms too much, for fear that he may see what she was doing.

"Well, you seem to know all about me. Tell me about you."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Gladstone. Top secret, you understand."

"Oh aye." she was almost done with the cuffs.

"Now, I need to ask you what you've done with the disk."

"Well, I've told yer boys what I'm about to tell you, I've chucked it."

"Yes, but where?"

"Eh, again, I cannae tell yeh." The door was still open. The poor sod had forgotten to close it. "Though I can assure you that it's safe as houses. No one knows where it tis but me, not even me client."

"You will not be leaving this place anytime soon, unless you tell us where you hid it."

Margaret gazed at him and he took her in with one look. They sat there for about five minutes, not speaking, just watching each other, until he looked back at the file.

"Well, Miss Gladstone if you will not cooperate I am forced to-"

"EURGGG!" Margaret screeched and ripped her arms from the cuffs. She jumped right over the table, smacking him in the face with her boot and sending him sprawling to the floor. She raced out the door and down the corridor.

"_DON'T JUST STAND THERE, YOU IDIOTS! GET HER!"_

Suddenly Margaret was being tailed by four large men in suits but her petite figure made it simple to outrun them. What she didn't count on were the other two men who jumped out in front of her. Thinking quickly, she ducked down and the men smacked into each other.

"Twits."

She continued to sprint down the halls, twisting and turning around corners without problem. That is until she hit the waxed floor. She couldn't stop so she slid, trying desperately to keep her balance but ended up hitting the far wall. Now on the floor she groaned and put her head in her hands.

That was when she saw the set of expensive Italian shoes walking up beside her. She looked up into the sickeningly sweet smiling face of the man from the interrogation room, though his face was a tad more colorful with a bruise forming on his jaw.

"I can tell we'll have a delightful time together Miss Gladstone."

"Please, call me Margaret."

"Mycroft." he stated thoughtfully as he pulled out a syringe.

"Is that your name or the needle's?"

He smiled amusedly as he brought the needle to her neck.

"Goodnight Miss Gladstone."

* * *

**Well...?**


	2. 4 Hours Not bad

**Here's another chapter wether you like it or not! Though I hope you do like it.**

**I don't own Mycroft, I wish I did but I don't. I don't own any of the Sherlock characters, only Margaret.**

* * *

Margaret woke up on the cold concrete of a small cell. Her head pounded and her red hair fell into her eyes. Only then did she realize that she didn't have her cap. She muttered profanities; she had really liked that hat. She looked around her and noticed a small cot and a sink with a toilet next to it.

"Ah, they've got to be jokin'."

"I assure you, we are not."

Margaret turned around and saw Mycroft standing at the bars, leaning on his umbrella. The bruise on his face was now a nice, dark blue. Margaret was very proud.

"Yer bruise is comin' in nice."

"Ah, yes. I have you to thank for that."

"Yer very welcome."

Margaret stood up and walked, slightly off balance mind you, over to the bars. She grasped them and looked up at Mycroft, only now seeing the height difference. He stared down at her and she felt very small indeed, even as she glared at him.

"How long you plannin' ta keep me 'ere?"

"Just until you give us the location of the disk you stole."

"What was on that disk that was so important?" Mycroft looked down at her in bewilderment.

"You don't know what was on it?"

"Ah course not. I was just doin' a job for a client. Never looked at what was on it."

"Who was your client?"

"You heard of doctor, patient confidentiality?"

"Yes."

"Same relative principle."

Mycroft gave her a look somewhere close to pity before he turned around and walked down the corridor.

"Eh! Where ya goin'?"

But he did not answer, he just kept walking. Soon after he left, two burly guards came down and opened her cell. They took her arms and dragged her out, going the way Mycroft had. The came to a set of double doors and which led to a larger room covered in white tiles. Mycroft stood in the corner, leaning against the wall.

"Last chance, Miss Gladstone."

"I thought I told you to call me Margaret."

"If you do not tell me _now_, I shall be forced to be less than kind to you."

"Ha, wot could you do to me?"

"_I_ would do nothing." he nodded to the two men who held her by the arms and the first one proceeded to punch her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. The two men dropped her to the floor and she fell, coughing and gasping for air.

The second one kicked her in the stomach and she grabbed hold of his boot, pulling roughly on it, sending him to the ground where he came forward and kicked her in the face. Blood trickled from her nose but she had no time to notice for the other one was already upon her.

Margaret kicked and punched as best she could, trying to gain the upper hand somehow but the two men were large, far larger than her. In the end her resistance really had no effect whatsoever.

* * *

**4 hours later**

"That'll be quite enough, Michael, Gerard. Thank you."

Margaret lay on the white tiled floor, bleeding, battered, broken and bruised. Mycroft still stood in the corner, though his jacket lay on a chair beside him and he was looking at the time on a pocket watch. The two guards left, closing the door silently behind them.

"Four hours, not bad." he walked over and crouched down beside her.

"Yer a bastard." she hissed before coughing up spatters of blood.

"Mmm, I've been informed of that." he clasped his hands in front of him. "Now would you like to tell me where the disk is?"

"Go to hell."

Mycroft sighed and looked down at her in derision. Then he stood up, grabbed his coat and stepped over her, walking to the door. As soon as Margaret heard the door shut, she curled into a ball and just laid there.

This went on for a number of days. Mycroft would enter the room, followed by Michael and Gerard. He would ask her where she hid the disk and she would refuse to comply. Then the two guards would proceed to beat the living crap out of her as Mycroft looked on in rapt indifference. It became somewhat of a daily ritual, one Margaret was proud to be apart of.

By the third day, Margaret was sporting a broken nose, a black eye, several cuts and bruises riddled across her body and three broken ribs, making it difficult for her to breathe. She sat in the corner of the room, sore and hungry, for they had yet to feed her, watching the door waiting for the three men.

It was then that the door began to creak open. Margaret stiffened and glared at Mycroft as he entered but grew confused when he shut the door. He was alone and in his hands was a small medical kit. He walked over to her and knelt down.

"What're you playin' at?" he looked up from the kit and into her scowling face, and then he smiled.

"Can't have you dying from infected wounds, then we'd never find the disk."

"Yer a cold bastard." she whispered harshly.

"Caring is not an advantage."

"I'm not askin' ya to _care_, I'm askin' ya to be _human_!" she took a short intake of breath and went silent.

He looked at her but didn't respond; only opened the med kit and took out rubbing alcohol and some gauze. Taking hold of her wrist, he began to clean the cuts on her arm. Margaret looked at his hand, his fingers were so long they wrapped fully around her small wrist and then some.

"Ah," she hissed, "careful!"

"Well if you told us where you hid the damn thing we wouldn't have to do this." Mycroft said impatiently.

"If I told you where I hid it, me client would most likely kill me."

"We can offer you protection." she scoffed as he said this and his grip on her hand tightened.

"You can trust me-"

"TRUST _YOU!?" _she screeched, ripping her hand away from him. "AFTER YOU TOLD THOSE GORILLAS TO NEARLY KILL ME, NO SIR!" her breathing became short and she gasped desperately for air.

"You seem to have broken a few ribs, you'll need a doctor." he stood up and walked out the door, returning shortly with a few men and a stretcher. They laid her on it, as she was still trying to breath and the last thing she saw before all went black was the seriously annoyed face of Mycroft.

* * *

It took several hours but Margaret now sat back in her small cell, completely fine, except for her ribs, which The Doctor had said would take some time to heal. He'd also told off Mycroft, which was rather amusing for her. She liked The Doctor.

She lay on the small cot, just thinking. She had to congratulate herself on lasting this long without saying anything about that disk. Why didn't they just understand that she was the only one who knew where it was and that it was safe and let her be on her way?

She groaned when she heard footsteps on the concrete floor. Thinking it was Mycroft coming back, she pushed herself off the bed, cringing slightly, and walked over to the bars, leaning on them.

"I've told you, I'm not sayin' nothin'!" she called. "Only I know where the bloody thing is and it's gonna stay that way!"

"Ohh, I do hope not." the soft Irish voice filled the corridor and her eyes widened in fear.

"_Moriarty."_

* * *

**Oh snap, it's a wild Moriarty...**


	3. Mycroft the Syringe

**Wowee, so here's chapter three. Thanks for your support so far! I hope you _do_ love this story, it gets better!**

**I don't own Sherlock or any character there within. Only Margaret.**

**Do _try_ to enjoy it.**

* * *

Moriarty stood in front of the cell; even he was taller than Margaret. He put his hands on the bars and leaned in with a sinister grin on his face.

"Hello, dear." he cooed, "look at you, already all locked up. How considerate of them. Really takes the pressure off."

Margaret took a step back, watching him, terrified of what he may do. He put his hand inside his pocket nonchalantly and produced a large key, which he place in the lock of the cell. He kicked the cell door and it swung open.

"Please, I dinnae tell 'em anythin'."

"Indeed, but then, you didn't tell me either."

He took a step towards her and she took a step back. He stopped and his grin turned into a playful smile. He took another step forward, she took another one back. He moved a step back but she stayed where she was. Moriarty looked at her like she was a child with a brain issue.

"You're supposed…to move-" he took three long strides towards and before she could move, he pressed her against the wall, "forward."

"No, please-"

"Ah, shh, shh, shhhh." he whispered softly, "just tell me where the disk is and I'll let you alone."

Margaret was about to speak when she had a breakthrough. Whatever was on that disk was important, that much she already knew, so important that the British Government was desperate to get it back and James Moriarty was just as desperate to have it.

And she was the only one who knew where it was.

"I'm waiting." he said

The moment she told either party where it was, she would become a liability and they would no doubt kill her, but as long as no one else knew-

"Tell me where it is." Moriarty whispered, taking a knife out and pressing it to her throat.

"Where's ma money?" she asked, trying to sound confidant. Moriarty took a step back, stared at her and started to laugh. He walked over to the door and closed it, locking it with the key.

"You'll not be leaving until I have what I came for."

"Course I won't be." she sighed.

He turned back around and stalked over to her, shoving his arm into her stomach, causing her to cry out in pain. He stopped and looked down, before a smirk graced his face.

"Does that hurt?" he asked. Margaret stayed silent until he wrenched his fist into her abdomen. She screamed in pain.

"DOES IT!?"

"Yes." she whimpered.

"Tell me what you did with the disk and I'll stop."

"I've lasted three days in this hell hole. What makes ya think I can't last with you too?"

"Well," Moriarty said thoughtfully, "Mycroft Holmes has limits. _I don't_."

He grabbed her by the hair and smashed her head against the wall of the cell. Whether it was the brain trauma or her imagination, Margaret could hear footsteps racing down the corridor towards them.

"Step away from her, Moriarty." Mycroft's voice rang authoritatively through the hall.

"Ah, Ice man! What a pleasant surprise. You see, you and I have a common goal. I want that disk."

"What is on that disk could send the countries of the world spiraling into the next world war 3."

"Well, yes." Moriarty stated, as though it were obvious. "That's why I want it."

"You won't get it."

"Oh?"

"No," Margaret grunted and threw her foot into Moriarty's shin. He cried out, hunched over and she kneed him in the face. Taking the knife off him, she put it to his throat and he put his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

"Alright, okay. I'm leaving." he took out the key and put it in the lock, opening the door. He pulled a gun from his pants and trained it on Mycroft. No one moved as he walked backwards towards the door at the end of the hall.

"This isn't the last you'll hear from me, Maggie!" he shouted back, before flying through the door.

Margaret eyed the open cell door and Mycroft eyed her. So, when she suddenly bolted, two long thin arms wrapped around her tightly, keeping all violent thrashing to a minimal.

"No." he said sternly. He turned to the other men. "Call The Doctor."

"I dinnae need a doctor!"

"You're in shock."

"_What!?_ Where'd ya hear that load a crap?"

"You need time to mend."

"What the hell is wrong with ye? First ya have me beaten to near death, now you want me to mend? Pick a side, boyo!"

Mycroft sighed as she pushed against his arms in an attempt to get loose. She tried stomping on his foot, which did, to her credit, make him grunt slightly. Then she tried to aim for his groin but her legs couldn't reach. At that he snickered.

"Alright, enough now." he said pulling out the needle.

"Oh lookit that. It's Mycroft the syringe."

She sagged hopelessly into his arms as he injected her. He looked down at her face and noticed for the first time how thin and tired she looked. With a pitying glance, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her down the darkened corridor.

* * *

Mycroft sat in a large leather chair with a glass of whiskey in his hand. A man sat across from him, watching him.

"What do you suppose we do about this, Mr. Holmes?"

"The girl must be kept safe; under no circumstance can she be left alone."

"Yes sir, I'll inform the men." he said, getting up.

"No."

The man stopped and sat down again, with a confused look on his face.

"Pardon sir?"

"If James Moriarty can get into the cells, then he'll be able to access civilian protection. She needs to be somewhere with more security and someone able enough to control her. Yes, I think that'll do quite nicely."

Mycroft got up and started for the door when the young man stopped him.

"But- where are we gonna put her, sir?"

He looked at the man like he was some sort of moronic chipmunk before stating, like it was so obvious-

"She'll stay in my estate."

* * *

**A bit short I'm afraid. Do forgive me. Any ideas or feedback is warmly welcome.**

**Until next time, my lovelies**

**~U-Hinged**


	4. A New Home

**So, next chapter up, yo! I do hope you are enjoying it. I'm not seein' alot of reviews... Just kidding, I don't care if you're enjoying it. Wait, that came out wrong, sorry. Just...read the damn thing. *sigh* I'm getting to old for this.**

**I own nothing but Margaret!**

* * *

"Oh no, no, no, no!" screeched Margaret as she was dragged to the car in handcuffs.

"You act like you have a choice." Mycroft said looking at his watch, "Now stop being a child and hurry up, I have a meeting."

"Oh God NO! Quick Michael, get ta the bunker, the man's gonna be late for a meetin'!" she shouted to Michael, who held the door open for the two of them.

"Thank you, Michael. That will be all."

"Yes sir." he walked back to the ominous building, leaving Mycroft to shove Margaret into the car.

"No need ta be so rough." she mumbled, shifting in her seat.

Mycroft moved right against her, nearly crushing her against the car door.

"Whoa! Whatdya think yer doin'?" she cried.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows and that look he always gave. He took her seatbelt and strapped her in. She could feel her face go slightly pink and she looked down, embarrassed.

"Oh."

Moving back to his seat, he buckled himself in and pulled a newspaper out of the inside of his jacket.

"Home, Tanner."

The car drove off and Margaret knew that there was no going back now. She rested her head on the window, knowing that trying to get any decent conversation from Mycroft would be like trying to explain evolution to a ferret.

She was deep in thought when her stomach began to make most unpleasant noises. Mycroft's head snapped up, like a meerkat, searching for the source of the noise. Her stomach grumbled again and Mycroft turned to stare at her slowly.

"What? Ye didn't feed me in there, whaddya expect?"

He turned back to his newspaper, snorting in disgust and she turned back to the window. They past through London, people walking by, busses, cars bikes and the like, all very busy. Then they came to more overgrown areas, forests and hills.

She watched the farmers and their sheep on the knolls and looked deep into the forests, hoping to see something hidden deep within. She did not notice Mycroft watching her silently from behind his paper.

Margaret didn't know when she had fallen asleep, but she soon found herself being lightly shaken awake. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked over into the normal, straight face of Mycroft.

"We've arrived."

"Oh ok, ta." she went to move but the seatbelt was still on. Looking to Mycroft, he noticed and she saw the quiet twitch in his lip as he tried to hide a smile. He leaned over her again and released the belt.

Margaret shuffled awkwardly over towards the door and when she stepped out, her breath caught in her throat. The house, if one could even call it that, was huge. A long paved driveway lay behind the car, surrounded by lush green grass and Margaret could see the woods stretching out on either side.

Around the house were large bushes of beautiful flowers, some reaching up to the long glass windows which showed into the different rooms.

The house was not white, but more of a light peach color with balconies overlooking the estate, their doors left open, letting the sunlight shine through them. A man was mowing the grass and looked up, waving slightly at Mycroft.

"Afternoon, Mr. Holmes!"

"Hello Charlie." he called back.

"Holmes, eh?" Margaret said, her eyes still fixed on the house. "You got a brother then, Holmes?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"None. Just used to be apart of the homeless network, helped him out on a few cases, till ya know-"

"You started breaking the law, yes. Now come along." he put his long hand on the small of her back and guided her to the house.

"He still calls, ya know."

"Of course he does."

"Don't you go sassin' me, bird man."

"Oh, do grow up, Margaret."

She stopped suddenly, causing Mycroft to smack into her from behind.

"For God's sake-"

"Yeh called me Margaret." she stated, looking up at him with wide eyes. He looked, puzzled, down at her, before his face softened, just slightly.

"Yes, I did. Now can we please get on?"

"Right, sorry." Mycroft sighed, she was certainly _like_ Sherlock.

They finally reached the great oak doors and he produced a key, fitting it into the lock and pushing them through the door. Margaret didn't even have time to admire the foyer because as soon as they got in, Mycroft was dragging her up the stairs and down a hall. They reached a door which he unlocked and shoved her into.

"Stay in here, don't break anything and for goodness sake keep quiet!"

"Wait! My hand-"

SLAM

"-cuffs."

The sharp click on the other side of the door told her that he had locked her in. Sighing, she started on the handcuffs. As she did, she looked around the room. It had a large, beautiful canopy bed in the centre and a small sofa at the foot of it. The walls were painted a dark yellow.

There were small bedside tables on both sides and a dresser by the opposite wall. A small chair lay by a large, full wall window, which she immediately walked over to.

When Margaret looked out, she saw a number of expensive black cars rolling up in front of the house. She watched, confused as Mycroft skipped down the steps and greeted the rich looking men that exited the vehicles.

Suddenly, he looked up, as if he felt her eyes on her. They stared at each other for a moment until Margaret started making faces at him, with some suggestive gestures thrown in.

He glared and shook his finger at her until one of the other men looked affronted. Mycroft shook his head to the man and smiled politely, sending one last glare in her direction. Margaret was practically rolling on the floor.

Finally, she was out of the handcuffs and checked the door.

"Course the old sod would lock it." she mumbled. But she had another plan.

* * *

**Many hours later**

Mycroft waved goodbye to the last of the men and finally shut the door, leaning against it and letting out a long, tired sigh. His jacket was discarded on a chair and he tugged at his vest. The meeting had gone on much longer than he had hoped and by the end of it, he was trying not to just shout at the ancient bearded relics.

Rubbing his face, he walked up the stairs to check on Margaret. He hoped to God that she hadn't broken anything. When he reached the door, he thought it would be polite to knock, just incase she wasn't _decent_. And so he did.

"Margaret."

There was no answer. Actually, there was no sound whatsoever on the other side of the door. His brow furrowed slightly and he knocked again.

"Margaret?"

Fishing the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door quickly; hoping only to find her asleep, but what he actually saw alarmed him terribly. The long, glass window lay open, banging against the wall from the wind. He raced over to it and looked out. Nothing was there.

In a flurry of panic, he raced out the door and down the stairs, his expensive Italian shoes moving faster than they ever had before. He had grabbed his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the door handle when-

"Ah, get it right up ye- bah!" A voice from the kitchen shouted.

Mycroft turned slowly and, laying his jacket down on the coat rack, headed gradually towards the sound. Taking deliberate, hesitant steps, he made his way to the kitchen door. Slowly, he shifted it open and he peeked inside, not sure what he'd find. His eyes widened at what he did.

Margaret stood by the oven, a plate next to her full of what seemed to be pastries of some kind. She was doubled over, shouting curses and holding her hand out in front of her. Mycroft pushed the door open wider and was soon standing right beside her, looking down on her hand.

"You seem to have burned it." he said idly. His voice caused her to jump slightly and she turned to glare at him.

"Oh? Burned it have I? Funny, I thought I'd frozen it off!"

"No need to shout, my dear. Come with me."

He took her wrist and led her out of the kitchen down the hall and into another room. The bathroom. He turned on the cold water on the tap and carefully placed her hand under the running water.

"_You_ are supposed to be locked in a room." Mycroft stated nonchalantly.

"_You_ leave your windows unlocked." Margaret retorted.

"Why didn't you just leave?"

"And go where? There's no where ta go! Ya live in a bleedin' one house neighborhood." she paused for a second before continuing. "and I was hungry."

A small smile crept up Mycroft's face and he brought her hand out of the water, dried it and, before he could do anything else, she snatched it away. Margaret glared up at him.

"If you think this whole pleasant act is gonna make me tell yeh anythin', ya got it wrong!"

She stormed past him, back into the kitchen, where she grabbed the plate and made her way back to the bedroom. As she passed him again, he seized a pastry off her plate and watched her go.

"Ah well, that's that plan out the window." and he proceeded to eat the pastry.

* * *

**So? Please say you liked it, my moral is just in the toilet right now b/c of reasons. Annywho, I still love you all!**

**~U-Hinged**


	5. Gone Too Far

**Alright, I'm just spittin' these things out like wild fire. Thank you all who have started their love for my story. ^^) **

**As you know i own nothing but Margaret.**

**Warning, this chapter is smoky and amazing! I hope you like my little...thing.**

* * *

**Somewhere in the Bowels of London**

"Do keep up, John, this is important!" Sherlock called from the far end of the alley.

"So important we had to come out here at 2:30 in the morning?"

"What does time have to do with it?"

"Everything" Doctor Watson mumbled as he ran after Sherlock. They turned a corner and stopped in front of a dumpy looking apartment. Sherlock knocked on the door.

"Why are we here again?" John asked.

"Oh John, do you pay attention _at all? _I need to find one someone and we have to consult the homeless network! Really John!"

"Alright, fine." he sighed.

The door to the apartment opened and a rather disheveled man stood before them, leaning on the doorframe. He grinned at Sherlock.

"Mr. 'olmes, what can I do for you?"

"We're looking for Margaret, Terry. Have you seen her?"

"Gladstone? Naw, from what I 'eard last, she was arrested. Got in too deep with the criminal underbelly, if ya get me."

"They'll never let us into any of the prisons." John said.

"Oh, she ain't in no prison. Naw, she was taken in for _questioning. _What she did, it was some sort of real important thing, ya know."

"Yes thank you Terry." Sherlock started down the steps when Terry said-

"British Government important."

Sherlock stopped suddenly and turned.

"You know what I mean." Terry said smugly.

"What? What does he mean?" Of course, poor John was left out.

"Come on John."

"Oh, ok. Uh…where are we going?"

"We're going to pay a little visit to my brother."

* * *

Margaret woke up on her bed, still in her clothes from yesterday. _Funny_, she thought_, I don't remember falling asleep. _She tried to move her arms and legs but found that they were shackled to the bed posts and because her hands weren't anywhere near each other, she couldn't get out of them.

"Damn it." she muttered. She noticed that the curtains were drawn and the room was pitch dark save for the dim lamp in the corner of the room which set out a kind of eerie ambiance.

Suddenly, from some unseen vents in the ceiling came clouds of thick fog. It covered the room, and settled around Margaret.

"What the hell-?"

Out of the darkest corner of the room she saw a man step out. The lamp did not fully illuminate him so his face was covered in shadow. He walked closer and leaned over her chained body.

"Oh God-" she gasped.

Moriarty grinned down at her, moving onto the bed. As he straddled her, she jolted her legs about as much as she could, hoping to get him off her, but he simply rested his knees on hers, causing her to dry out in pain.

"No, please stop."

"Where is the disk, my dear?" he asked, never taking his eyes off hers, even as he moved his hands down to her belt.

"No, I can't-once I tell yeh, yeh'll kill me."

"Alright, have it your way." He undid her belt and started to lift her shirt up, his fingers grazing the flesh on her stomach. Tears began to fill her eyes and she shook uncontrollably.

"Oh no, darling, no need to be afraid." he whispered. "Just tell me."

"I can't." she choked.

Grasping the top of her pants roughly, he yanked them down. Margaret screamed as loud as she could, hoping Mycroft would hear her.

"PLEASE! NO-PLEASE DON'T DO THIS-"

He took hold of her shirt and literally ripped it in two.

"_PLEASE_!"

Moriarty leered over her and was just about to make his move when she screamed-

"THE BOX! IT'S IN THE BOX!"

He stopped.

"Which box?"

"Me safety deposit box. The Bank of England, number 233! PLEASE!"

Suddenly the door was kicked open and the light practically blinded Margaret. She felt someone unlocking the shackles which held her to the bed and lift her up out of it. She was being carried quickly out of the room and into the hallway.

The door was slammed shut and the person leaned her up against the wall. Her eyes were blurry and she could not see who it was but she heard another set of footsteps race into the corridor followed by a slower, more leisurely set.

"Jesus Christ-" a voice called out and her eyes started to clear.

She found herself staring into the worried face of Sherlock Holmes and on the other side was a man she had never seen before. He was blonde and short but had a friendly look in his eyes. He too, looked concerned.

Before she could stop it, her bottom lip began to quiver and she threw herself into the waiting arms of the blonde man. He held her tight and muttered comforting words. Sherlock stood up and glared at his brother.

"You've gone too far, Mycroft."

"It was a matter of national security, Sherlock. I did what I had to do."

"You used a lethal drug on a defenseless _girl. _A drug which caused it's victims to go insane!"

"We needed that disk!" Mycroft shouted back.

"Look at her, Mycroft! Just look at her!"

Margaret sobbed into John's arms and even he glared daggers at Mycroft. Mycroft's face softened somewhat as he stared at the weeping girl in John's arms.

"Very well, take her then."

Sherlock walked up and got in Mycroft's face. "We aren't taking her anywhere."

"We aren't?" John asked, confused.

"No, now that she's told you where the disk is, he'll be out to kill her. The flat is too obvious. She'll stay here, with _you _and _my number_ on speed dial."

"Are you threatening me, Sherlock?" Mycroft mused.

"No, but if she calls me about something _you did,_ _I'll_ call mummy." Mycroft's eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Boys, please." John said. Margaret had stopped crying and was now lying against the wall staring fiercely at Mycroft.

"You cold hearted _prick_."

Mycroft bristled and turned swiftly, striding down the hallway. They heard him go down the stairs and the door slam shut. Sherlock turned to Margaret and kneeled down in front of her.

"You understand don't you? You have to stay here; it's not safe anywhere else. Mycroft may be a bitter pain in the arse, but there is no where safer to be than with him."

"Yeah, yeah I understand." she replied, holding her head in her hands.

"You'll be fine," John said, "once you've, you know, gotten rid of the chemicals."

"Ya mean once I've shat 'em out? I'm sorry; I don't think we've been introduced. Margaret Gladstone, thief and, apparently, a national problem."

"John Watson, army doctor and friend of Sherlock's." he chuckled.

"Friends? I didn't know yeh had friends." she nudged Sherlock. He just rolled his eyes.

John helped Margaret stand and she followed them as they walked down the stairs to the door.

"Don't worry, he'll be back soon." Sherlock grinned at her. "Do try to make life wretched for him."

"I won't _try_, Holmes. That bastard will get exactly what he deserves."

"Marvelous seeing you again Margaret. I'll come calling again; I _do_ need your help."

"Right."

"Goodbye Margaret." John said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You give us a call if anything happens, alright?"

"Aye, doc."

They left, shutting the door behind them and leaving Margaret standing alone in the house. A creak at the top of the stairs made her jump a mile high but when she turned around, she only saw a kindly looking old man.

"Do excuse me, miss. I couldn't help but hear what was going on" he said, as he walked down the stairs towards her. Soon, he stood right in front of her. He smiled pleasantly at her, before putting his finger to his nose. "I know just what'll make you feel better."

He took her hand and led her to the kitchens.

* * *

**Gotta say, I enjoyed writing this bad boy. So? Hot enough for ya?**

**~U-Hinged**


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